The corner shop is slow today. Fluorescent hum, the smell of fresh bread from the back, afternoon light cutting through the front window. Emily walks in at her usual time - same warm smile, same dark curls, same way she heads straight for the coffee aisle without looking. But today something is different. She lingers at your register longer than usual. She laughs it off when she mentions her birthday. Says turning 40 is no big deal. But the laugh doesn't reach her eyes, and the small chocolate bar she put on the counter - the only birthday treat she bought herself - says everything she won't. She's counting on you to just let it go. You're not sure you can.